


The Best Gifts Are Homemade

by Elfhild (AngmarAndElfhild)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Holidays, Mordor, Sauron crafting things, Yule, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngmarAndElfhild/pseuds/Elfhild
Summary: Yuletide comes to Barad-dûr, and Annatar, Lord of Gifts, has a sack full of presents for his most loyal servants, the Nazgûl.
Kudos: 7





	The Best Gifts Are Homemade

By Elfhild

_The best gifts are those made by one's own hands…_

For hours, the Jewelsmith had been engaged in His craft, vaguely aware of the westward journey of Arien, who guided the last golden fruit of Laurelin through the heavens. Every now and then, He would pause in His task to wipe the glistening beads of sweat from His dark brow and refresh His thirst with a draught of delicious mineral water drawn from healing springs that flowed down from the Ash Mountains. Cracking His neck and rubbing the strained muscles in His shoulders, He glanced towards the cavern entrance to observe the passage of time. Through the thick industrial haze which hung heavy over the land, the Sun appeared as a ball of orange fire descending through the steely gray winter sky over the shadowy shapes of the western mountains. Night would fall soon, and all the creatures who hid their faces from Arien's burning light would emerge from their lairs to carouse merrily in the darkness, celebrating the Yuletide season with much drunkenness and debauchery.

He looked down at the necklace upon the worktable, His heart swelling with pride, His amber eyes misty with sparkling tears of benevolence. Before Him lay a regal golden chain composed of interlinked garnet amulets. He had spent days cutting and polishing rough garnet into rounded cabochons which shone with a deep ruddy luster, like drops of blood. After that, He had created settings for the garnet cabochons, cutting strips of gold to make bezels, wrapping them carefully around the circumference of each stone, and then soldering the edges with His mouth-blown solder, fueled by red-hot coals taken from deep within the fiery mountain. After that, He soldered the bezels onto golden amulets, which He had adorned with intricate patterns of raised drops of molten gold and enchanted with spells of good fortune. From the center of each oval-shaped amulet, a beautiful garnet glistened, surrounded by golden dewdrops.

As He attached the clasp to the chain with pliers, the Jewelsmith sat back and surveyed His work. There was love in this piece, so much love. This exquisite necklace was to be a Yule gift for one of His vassals, the sullen lord from Rhûn who oft felt neglected and forgotten. Well, perhaps after receiving such a superb gift, the melancholy of the Ninth Nazgûl would lessen, and he would be filled with a renewed sense of love and devotion for the one who created it, Annatar, the Lord of Gifts.

***

The Great Hall of Barad-dûr was looking quite festive for the Yuletide celebration. The torches burnt brightly, and boughs of holly and pine from the mountains hung from the obsidian sides of the chamber. The colorful faceted jewels which adorned the walls reflected the torchlight, sparkling and glittering like thousands of tiny scintillating stars. Around the spacious chamber, black-liveried servants waited upon the beck and call of their dark masters. Minstrels played a melody both serpentine and lively upon lutes, flutes, drums, and bells, the music weaving its way around the vast columns which held up the great, vaulted ceiling to fill the chamber. The bewitching sound twisted through the ears and wrapped around the mind like a seductive vine, compelling one to lose all inhibition and burst into spontaneous dance.

That evening, there would be a great feast to celebrate Midwinter's Night, the longest night of the year, when the darkness was deepest and at its highest power. The tables would be laden with many unique and wonderous dishes and vintages from all over the South and East, and following that there would be all manner of music and amusement, from jesters to jugglers to traveling troupes of entertainers. Though it was early afternoon and the festivities would not start for several hours yet, excitement and anticipation filled the denizens of the Tower, and the very air seemed to pulse and vibrate with energy.

The Dark Lord sat upon His crystalline throne of black adamant, gazing out benevolently upon the assembled court. Upon His head He wore a golden circlet which He had crafted to resemble a crown of holly, with leaves studded with emeralds and berries made of ruby. His rich velvet tunic was of scarlet trimmed with white fur upon the sleeves and hem; holly leaves embroidered in thread-of-gold and stitched with green rhinestones ran down the front of the garment. A caplet of ermine hung from His broad shoulders, fastened with a jeweled brooch in the shape of the Eye of Fire. Around His waist was a belt of finely tooled leather, and upon His feet, He wore fine black leather boots which had been shined to a bright polish. His garments were of superb craftsmanship, for they had been made by elven tailors who were forced to labor as thralls in Barad-dûr and sew garments for the great Gorthaur.

The bright red and the pristine white of the Dark Lord's tunic and caplet stood in sharp contrast to His face, which was unnaturally black, as though a shadow had been brought to life. The very essence of darkness and eternal gloom, His appearance was terrifying to behold, for it was as though the black emptiness of the Timeless Void had manifested itself in the form of a man, tall in stature and great in might. From beneath the shadows of His brow, His eyes shone like twin flames, burning with the heat of an unholy forge. If His eyes blazed like fire, then His long, flowing hair was like smoke, swirling over the snowy caplet like inky tendrils, surrounding His head and shoulders with an aura of shifting shadows and glowing embers. If He had been entertaining special guests, or going amongst His subjects in Nurn, He would have worn one of many decorative masks to hide His terrible visage, but there were no strangers here. He smiled magnanimously at the Nine Nazgûl, His pearly fangs gleaming in the darkness, and with a clawed hand bade them come forward.

Nine figures approached the Dark Throne and bowed in deference to their Liege. Accepting their obeisance, the Lord of Gifts graciously extended His hand for His vassals to kiss as a show of their loyalty.

"My Nine most noble sons, My Eye has been watching all that ye do, and though some of you have been naughty at times," the fiery eyes narrowed slightly as they gazed into the face of the Lord of the Nazgûl, "I am mostly pleased by what I have seen. It is the tradition to give gifts during Yuletide, and tonight, the longest night of the year, I shall bestow upon My beloved sons gifts I have made with My own hands. Long hours have I spent at My forge deep within Amon Amarth, crafting these tokens of My love and esteem."

Beside the throne was a small round table whose highly polished surface had been cunningly carved with the image of the Great Eye. A large black sack, also adorned with the symbol of the Eye Which Sees All, rested atop the table, brightly wrapped packages spilling forth from its spacious interior. The Lord of Gifts reached into the sack and began distributing presents to His Nine most powerful servants.

To the Lord of the Nazgûl, a lord of Númenor and His favorite son, Annatar gifted a diamond studded golden goblet that featured a cloisonné enameled scene of a Númenórean ship at sea. The Nazgûl King grieved for his homeland which now lay beneath the waves, and collected mementos which reminded him of a past to which he could never return. Annatar had spent much time crafting the goblet, and He entrusted that the Númenórean prince would be appropriately grateful.

To Khamûl of Khand, the Second Nazgûl, a gently curving dagger in a golden hilt bedecked with emeralds and topaz. Both the blade and its hilt were adorned with delicate scrollwork which resembled a leaf covered vine. Khamûl had a fondness for unique daggers, and had amassed quite a collection over the years.

To Gothmog of Harad, the Third Nazgûl, a bejeweled aigrette for his turban. The ornament was set with a huge ruby surrounded by tiny pearls, and featured two golden chains strung with jewels which would drape over the sides of the turban. From the top of the aigrette erupted a spray of black feathers which glinted with a glossy green and purple sheen when the light caught them in certain angles.

To Zagbolg of Khand, the Fourth Nazgûl, a golden cup etched with lacy geometric patterns and studded with amethysts. Whether Zagbolg used the cup to drink his favorite vintage or the blood of a willing acolyte during a sacred ritual, the Dark Lord knew that the cup would be put to good use.

To Krakfakhthal, the Fifth Nazgûl, barbarian chieftain of the White Mountains, a twisted golden torc, fashioned in the style of his people. The terminals of the semi-circular necklace resembled dragon heads with glittering sapphire eyes.

To Rutfiimûrz, the Sixth Nazgûl, a lord of Númenor, a silver brooch adorned with a starburst made of two types of topaz, the kind which sparkled like drops of molten amber, and a rare shade of blue which was as bright as the Belegaer on a sunny day. The elvish inspired design was one which had been popular in Númenor, the land where Rut had been born.

To Udukhatûrz, the Seventh Nazgûl, a lord of Númenor, an exquisite silver wine ewer boasting a raised design resembling a majestic tree with cloudy blue opals for blossoms. Since Udu was more often than not in his cups, the gift would be well appreciated indeed.

To Skrishau, the Eighth Nazgûl, a Rhûnian king, a tome of necromancy authored by the Dark Lord himself. Not the original volume, of course, for it was far too valuable and precious, but a facsimile painstakingly copied by the scribes of Barad-dûr. The Dark Lord himself had assisted the scribes in crafting the grimoire's thick leather cover, which was inscribed with sorcerous runes and decorated with yellowish green chrysoberyl cabochons.

And to Krithnarînuz, the Ninth Nazgûl, a Rhûnian king, the golden garnet necklace which the Dark Lord had recently finished crafting in His workshop.

As He watched the faces of His Nine servants light up with wonder and awe as they unwrapped their presents, Annatar smiled in contented satisfaction. Each of the precious gems which bedecked their gifts matched those of their Rings, so that whenever the Nine looked at their gifts, so skillfully and lovingly crafted, they would be reminded of the source of their power and the One who bestowed it upon them. If it had not been for the benevolence of their most generous Ruler, these Nine Lords of Men would long ago have passed beyond the Circles of the World, their bones turned to dust, their names forgotten beneath the sands of time. He had given them a gift which was far better than the pathetic Gift of Men, the gift of life unending. True it was that by accepting this gift, the Nazgûl were doomed to eternal servitude, but, honestly, who would _not_ want to be the servant of Mairon the Admirable?

Lord Annatar, the Giver of Gifts, was always generous in His magnanimity. Even when His Nazgûl displeased Him greatly, He was still generous with them… generous in His punishments, but also generous in His forgiveness… if He deemed that they were appropriately grief-stricken for their transgressions. It brought Him great satisfaction to see His repentant sons crawling upon their knees and pleading for His forgiveness, for the devotion of the penitent was a pure and sacred thing. These Nine wretched sons of the Secondborn were indeed fortunate to have Him as their Master, He who knew best how to rule Middle-earth and bring all of its lands to order. Someday, He would rule over everything, and usher Arda into a golden age the likes of which it had never seen before, a time of bliss and beauty that would rival even that of the Spring of Arda, which was tragically marred by the inference of the scheming, vainglorious Valar.

Dismissing the Nine to their thrones set upon the dais below Him, the Dark Lord rose to His feet, His imposing presence commanding the attention of all gathered in the Great Hall. Retrieving a brocaded pouch at His belt, He undid the drawstring upon the fine ebony bag, and with a graceful toss of His hand, He threw a handful of golden coins up into the air. He chuckled in amusement as He watched His thralls, both Orc and Man, scramble to grab the glittering golden discs which bore the raised image of the Great Eye.

Indeed, Annatar was always generous.

**Author's Note:**

> It's easy to imagine Annatar the Lord of Gifts as being a sort of Dark Santa Claus, giving out gifts with lots of unpleasant strings attached. After all, the Great Eye sees you when you're sleeping… he knows when you're awake… he knows if you've been bad or good… so you better bow down and worship for goodness sake!
> 
> Since this was meant to be a fun seasonal story, I did not really set it in a certain time period. For myself, I imagine this story as being part of "The Circles" canon, which means that Sauron has regained the One Ring, and the story takes place near the end of the Third Age or the beginning of the Fourth Age. No wonder Sauron is so insufferably smug.
> 
> However, I left certain details vague – such as whether Sauron is wearing the One Ring or not, and if he has any missing fingers – so the story could theoretically work in the Second Age after the sinking of Númenor (SA 3319) and before the fall of Sauron during the Battle of the Last Alliance (SA 3441). The story could also take place in the Third Age, sometime after Sauron returned to Mordor in 2951 and before the Ring Quest in 3018. One thing is for certain, though – Sauron has a body at this point, and its appearance is definitely not what most people in Middle-earth would consider "fair." (Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder…)
> 
> I have always wondered if Sauron crafted anything besides the Rings. Since I imagined this story taking place in the alternate universe of "The Circles," I would imagine that Sauron would feel a sense of renewed energy and purpose from regaining the One Ring, and this might bring on a crafting binge in the forges of Mount Doom. I also wondered if Sauron would prefer to craft in Mount Doom or in a workshop in Barad-dûr. I decided to depict him working on his projects in his mountain workshop… you know, for old time's sake.
> 
> The names of the Nazgûl and the depictions of the gemstones in their Rings were inventions of Angmar, my late writing partner, who came up with many of the ideas, themes, and plotlines in "The Circles."


End file.
